


Out of House and Home

by Oisín (gachahell)



Category: Irish Mythology, Original Work
Genre: ??? sort of???, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anachronism, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Clothing Kink, Diarmid finally says 'enough', Fionn gets what he deserves kinda, Gráinne gives 0 shits about fionn's tantrum, Gráinne is just here watching like eyes emoji, Hair-pulling, Love Bites, M/M, Marking, Mentions of Death, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Possessive Behavior, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism, diarmid actually fucking cares a lot, everything is consensual so no worries, fionn is just angry and betrayed and hurt, it's a very large ego, only mildly, since diarmid got gored by a boar... literally........., small amount of gore at the beginning, the fianna have had it up to here w/ fionn's ego
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gachahell/pseuds/Ois%C3%ADn
Summary: Fionn considers letting Diarmid die, but in the end he can't bring himself to do it.Diarmid finally says enough is enough and decides to settle things.Or: that story where diarmid survives and fucks fionn stupid.





	1. Chapter 1

Gráinne had been the one to suggest the idea to him; he would have had to have been truly mad to have come up with it himself. To invite the neighboring lords over for a party was one thing, but to invite the Fianna was to invite death right to his door. Fionn mac Cumhaill had been hunting him for five years now, him and his band of warriors hounding him until finally his foster father intervened and brought a fragile peace between them.

All his common sense cried for him to tell her 'no'. There was no reason that the Fianna needed to come here, not after he'd worked so hard to keep them away from her. She couldn't have missed it -- how he'd grown in their five years fleeing. His limbs were no longer lanky like they'd been while he was running with the Fianna, they'd long since hardened with muscle from real fights. The sort he'd barely pulled himself from alive, whose reminders now scarred a good portion of his body. And his mismatched eyes were no longer wide and doe-like, but cold and sharp, like a hawk's. Beneath them, small bags from the restless nights he'd spent in the forest for so long, the price of never quite sleeping properly, even now, in Gráinne's and his bed.

Yet he clenched his jaw tightly and said nothing to his wife. She had a way of getting what she wanted out of him, just like when they'd first met and she'd brought him under her command with a geis. Even if he spoke against the idea, it would almost certainly work out that the Fianna would show up "mysteriously". And he would have rather been prepared for them than caught off-guard by their coming.

Though, as the days passed and the party drew nearer, he found himself secretly longing to meet with the Fianna again. There were many a good man in Fionn's band, and a few friends he still missed dearly, despite having not spoken to them in years. And, if Diarmid O'Dyna was honest, even Fionn himself could be interesting in his own way. He'd followed the older man, dazzled by the wonderful tales of his heroics when he'd been younger. And despite all that had happened between the two of them, thoughts of his old captain still brought him a special happiness that not even Gráinne could give him.

Five years ago, he'd been very much in love with Fionn mac Cumhaill, he'd realized. And five years later, he still very much was. And as their reunion drew nearer, he found himself seeking out more time alone, when not laying special traps, to reacquaintance himself with his old thoughts. Sometimes resting against the outside wall, where the sweetest flowers bloomed and the sun shone the warmest, and letting his head lay back against the aged stone as he worked his hand into his pants. His half asleep brain painted wondrous images of Fionn there with him -- his hand instead of Diarmid's own, stroking his hardened cock and playing with his soft balls. And sometimes, when he let his mind wander even further, he could see himself twisting their positions, pressing Fionn up against the warm stone as he ground their bodies together. He'd come hard into his hand, imagining instead it was the soft flesh between Fionn's thighs, or, when he dared, his hot insides milking him dry.

If Gráinne had noticed anything about that, she said nothing on it when he crawled into bed with her at night. If she knew anything, she'd never felt particularly threatened by Diarmid's puppy love for Fionn. Or maybe she'd realized long ago that her position was not one so easily compromised in Diarmid's heart that she need to fret over his old captain. Lately, however, Diarmid liked to entertain the image that she simply saw no reason her husband should not invite another man into their bed for her to enjoy as well. Perhaps, like him, she also imagined herself in a tangled mess of limbs, moaning out whichever name came to her lips first before someone captured them with their own.

He spoke nothing of those thoughts to her, not wanting to humiliate her with such vulgar images if she'd not come up with them for her own pleasure. But they lingered in his own mind as the day of the party arrived. He could hardly keep himself asleep that night, his mind too active for rest. And even with a pleasant round of sex in both the evening and the morning, he couldn't push those thoughts out of his head as he dressed himself in the best clothes his foster father had left to him.

How would Fionn dress himself, he wondered, trying to imagine the captain of the Fianna in his decorated leather armor. He knew Fionn kept a set for when he was attending the business matters of lords and not out fighting in the open, but he'd never personally seen it. Knowing Fionn, however, Diarmid was sure it would be something stunning; the man would not wear anything less than what would have stroked his own ego. And Diarmid refused to allow himself to be one-upped this time, wanting to put on a show for Fionn.

It was frustrating, however, to hear all the trinkets clink as he walked. The long half-cloak felt heavy on his shoulders, and the fur tickled up against his neck just enough that he flinched several times thinking it a bug crawling on him rather than the soft pelt. Yet when he stepped into the room, showing his face to his guests for the first time, he could see that all eyes were open him and the love-spot over his brow. And he smiled, flashing teeth as he walked with the cool confidence of any other lord over to his seat next to Gráinne.

"Welcome," Gráinne chimed, her sweet voice filling the room with energy as the lords and warriors alike took their seats. "It is an honor to have you all as guests within our house. Especially those of you who are my husband's dearest friends." She looked calmly over towards the Fianna, offering a gentle smile as a few of them shouted their thanks at her and Diarmid. To his disappointment, Fionn was not one of those people -- nor was he even at that table. Diarmid sank into his chair just a little further, eyes narrowing as he scanned the room while Gráinne gave her speech.

Fionn was nowhere to be seen.

"Come now, you must put on a smile," Gráinne chided him. "Or else our guests will feel unwelcomed in our home. Do you wish to offend your friends after we went out of the way to invite them here?" Diarmid didn't answer her, but sat himself up straighter to give his own speech.

"As my wife has said, I thank you all for taking the time to visit us," he spoke, "Especially to the Fianna, whom I'm sure went out of their ways to make it here today. I'm glad that we are able to drink together under the same roof once more." He laughed along with them, nostalgia flooding his mind as he recalled when he used to sit beside Oisín and exchange stories with the younger man.

The party began with a toast; lords and warriors alike rose their glasses to their thanks to their hosts. But before Diarmid could take the first sip of his drink, the doors creaked open and the room fell silent once more. This time, with an uneasy tension.

In stepped Fionn mac Cumhaill, his armor not leather like Diarmid had imagined, but a shining white metal to match the golden headpiece that decorated his yellow-gold hair. The captain carried himself with an otherworldly grace, his boots making not a sound on the stone floor as he stepped to the center of the room. Even his cloak, a beautiful azure, which dragged along the floor made no noise or hinderance as it trailed behind him. The sword strapped to his left side hung there, unmoving as Fionn's left hand rested upon the hilt of it. Only when he stopped to kneel did it make the slightest tinkling sound as the metal hit the stone floor.

"Fionn mac Cumhaill," Gráinne said, her voice cold. Diarmid looked to his wife, then back to Fionn. His mouth suddenly felt dry as he looked down at the man on one knee. Never could he have imagined Fionn bowing his head to _him_. Though, after a few seconds, he realized it wasn't entirely him that Fionn was bowing his head to, but rather his wife.

Jealous surged hot within his veins, but he kept it cool as he stood from his seat to walk over to where Fionn knelt. He'd waited for this day for so long, and he refused to allow something such as this to ruin the mood. If Fionn still possessed lingering affections for his wife, he was the last one who would be able to say anything about it -- having both eloped with her and indulged in his own thoughts of taking the man at his feet as though they were the pair who'd married instead.

"Fionn," Diarmid choked out, searching for the words that he needed to speak. But nearly everything he wished to say to him was not for this room. So instead he swallowed it all back and offered his hand to the captain. "Stand. There is no need of you kneeling in our house."

Fionn, stubbornly, did not take Diarmid's hand, but rather stood on his own in a sorry attempt to beat out Diarmid's height. But the younger man had long since surpassed him and now comfortable stood at a few inches taller. It was only then that Diarmid realized just how small Fionn suddenly felt beside him. Fionn's limbs were much longer, more slender, used to chasing down beasts and humans, but he did not have the amount of muscle that Diarmid had on him now.

"It's been a long time," Fionn answered back, breaking Diarmid from his thoughts. "Somehow it feels as though you've still grown more in the time I haven't seen you. How old should you be now, twenty-six? You were eighteen when you followed along after the Fianna..." Diarmid's face burned red, embarrassed and honored, that Fionn had remembered such things about him. Perhaps that meant he'd thought about Diarmid in their time apart, just as how Diarmid had thought of him?

"Yes. I am," Diarmid coughed, "My birthday was not long ago, though. I'm impressed you remembered it had passed." He gave Fionn a warm smile, reaching for the hand atop his sword, but Fionn pulled away from his touch.

"Oisín reminded me as we came. He wished for us to bring you a gift," he explained. Diarmid fought to keep his shoulders straight, not wanting to show that Fionn had managed to wound him with those words. From the moment he'd walked in, Diarmid could tell Fionn was looking for a fight with him still, even if he didn't say it directly in his own words. Oisín must have forced him to bite his tongue until the party ended.

"And what of yourself. You are only thirty-seven now, if I remember," Diarmid tried. Fionn made a startled noise, looking away as a light blush painted his cheeks red.

"Something like that," he grumbled under his breath, but Diarmid heard it well enough. And he smiled wider, not the warm smile he'd put on as a host, but something a little hungrier as his teeth flashed. He'd forgotten how easy it was to poke at Fionn beneath his inflated ego, and the delicious reactions one could pull from Fionn if they knew just where to prod him.

"Either way, you're still young yourself. There is not a grey hair on your head," Diarmid laughed. "You must have run fast enough not even the years could not keep up with you."

"If that were the case, then I would say you ran fast enough to catch up to years far beyond yours," Fionn retorted, motioning to Diarmid's dual-colored hair. The white-gold locks in the front were a great contrast against the inky black of the rest, though the headband that hung over his forehead was a beautiful match to both colors.

"It was a gift from my foster father," Diarmid recalled. "Though most pay more attention to the mark upon my forehead rather than my actual hair."

"I'm sure your wife does both." Fionn snidely added. Diarmid bristled at that, despite knowing Gráinne hadn't heard it. She was too busy talking with some of the other ladies now, and Fionn's voice had dropped low enough that the noise of the room covered what he said from any other guest who might have wanted to listen in on what he was saying to their host.

"Fionn," Diarmid growled out in warning. "I will not have you insult my wife in my house. Friend or not."

Fionn raised an eyebrow, unthreatened by the display, but moved his hand from his sword to cross his arms as he looked up at Diarmid. It was a challenge to him, and had Diarmid been anywhere else he might have taken Fionn up on it. But he couldn't start a fight here, not in front of the rest of the Fianna. And then, there was a part of him that didn't want to fight Fionn anyways -- along with the part that still wanted to grind him into the dust under his heel until he apologized for everything.

"Why did you come," Diarmid finally forced out between gritted teeth. "What do you want, Fionn?" As much as he loved this man, at the same time he'd forgotten how infuriatingly petty he could be when he wanted. And on top of that, he'd forgotten how highly Fionn held himself in comparison to those around him.

"I came to invite you out on a hunt. For a boar," Fionn answered at last. "Just like we used to." Though he tried to withhold the emotion from his voice, Diarmid could have sworn he heard something there as Fionn looked back over towards the rest of the Fianna again. Anyone else might have thought it nothing, but it made Diarmid's heart leap with joy.

"When shall we start, I'll prepare straight away," Diarmid chirped eagerly. Fionn narrowed his eyes, looking deep in thought as he gazed upon Diarmid. Perhaps he remembered him as a younger warrior -- how eagerly he'd jumped up to join the Fianna when Fionn and his band had asked him along. Or perhaps he'd recalled any other time they'd hunted together, Diarmid always trailing behind as he did his best to keep up with Fionn and the others.

"After the party." Fionn told him. "Be sure to bring your sword and spear." And with those words, he turned on his heel to go take a seat next to his son.

For Diarmid, the party couldn't end fast enough after that. He spent the rest of the evening and night in a daze, so lost in his own nostalgia that even his poor wife couldn't quite pull him from it as she helped strip the decorative armor from him to prepare for sleep. And the next morning afterwards, he was a mess of nervous energy as he imagined himself chasing down the boar with the rest of the Fianna -- with his friends -- with Fionn.

But old curses had a funny way of turning enjoyable experiences into nightmares, as Diarmid would find out. Despite the Fianna's best warriors in the hunting party, the boar hunt turned sour as the beast turned its sights upon the warriors hunting it down. Without mercy, it mowed down person after person, slashing them with an almost human intelligence as it squealed.

By the time Fionn and Diarmid had caught up the other other hunting party, there were no survivors. The boar had gone out of its way to tear guts some from stomachs with its sharp tusks, and Diarmid was disgusted to see where the beast had actually managed to stab through the soft skin of the warriors' throats in a twisted display of possible mercy.

Diarmid held his spear closer, wishing it had been Gáe Dearg instead. Even Moralltach, his sword, would have made him feel more comfortable knowing now what sort of boar they were chasing down. Yet when he looked to Fionn, he saw only rage in the old captain's eyes. In all his time with Fionn, he'd known him to care about their fellow warriors. He'd heard that Fionn had even gone so far as to blame himself instead for the ones that Diarmid had been forced to kill when running away with Gráinne.

"Diarmid." Fionn hissed out, his knuckles white as he grasped the hilt of his sword tighter. "Go back to your wife." Hurt flashed across Diarmid's face and he shook his head, immediately angry at the order. Fionn might have been his captain before, but he was in no position to order him about now. Nor did Diarmid have any intention in running away from the boar.

"I'm staying. We'll kill the boar, Fionn," Diarmid swore. "I won't let it get away." Fionn looked over at him, and for a second Diarmid thought he saw fear on Fionn's face. There was something off about his gaze as well -- he seemed to look straight past Diarmid. Like he was seeing something that wasn't quite there.

"Fine." Fionn whispered, his blue eyes reflecting a hidden sorrow. "Fine." Diarmid didn't understand it. But there wasn't time to as they heard the squealing of the boar again in the distance, followed by more shouts and screams.

There were stories of how fast Fionn could run -- that his nephew could far outrun him when he wanted to. But Diarmid had never actually seen Fionn sprint so quickly in the entire time he'd known the captain of the Fianna. He ran as though he were being chased, with the grace and desperation of a hunted deer. So quickly, in fact, that Diarmid briefly wondered if his feet had even touched the ground as he chased behind him, barely managing to keep sight of the azure cloak Fionn wore.

But even then, he couldn't keep up with Fionn for so long and fell behind, alone and out of breath. And as his terrible luck would have it, the boar picked that moment to reveal itself to him, stamping its feet and shaking its bloody tusks in the air as its wild eyes landed on Diarmid. It was massive -- much bigger than Diarmid had thought it to be. So big, in fact, that only when he properly looked at it did he realize that it was clearly no normal animal. Whether it was a spirit or a fae beast, he couldn't make out enough to tell. But it gave him no time to think as it squealed and charged.

And even as Diarmid sank his spear deep into the beast's head, piercing through its brain and out the other side, the stupid boar charged on in desperation until its tusks sank into Diarmid's stomach, tearing as it collapsed dead alongside him.

Diarmid had never been in so much pain, his hands immediately flying to cover the wound as he rolled himself painfully out from under the boar. He couldn't bring himself to look down at the gaping hole in his stomach, but he could feel something with his hands. And the smell -- the smell made him feel ill as he laid there. Was this how he was meant to die, he wondered as he stared up at the sun. Hadn't his foster father warned him about a curse similar to this all those years ago. His hazy thoughts made it hard to remember and even Oisín and Fionn's voices sounded distant to him as his eyes begged to shut under that mercilessly bright sun.

"You can heal him, I know you can," Oisín begged, grasping Fionn's arm. To Diarmid, they looked more like shadowed shapes than people, and their voices were hard to tell apart. It was only because Oisín did most of the talking he was able to figure out who was which shape. And even then, he wasn't sure enough to say it with confidence.

"He's dying," Fionn said, so softly Diarmid nearly missed it. "I can't do anything."

"You can! I've seen it! You know you can! Go get the water!" Oisín shouted. Diarmid blinked, the noise too loud, the sun still too bright. His body felt as though it were on fire; water sounded nice.

As if on cue, water dripped upon his face, missing his lips. Oisín began to yell again at Fionn, who said nothing as he slunk out of Diarmid's view once more. When he returned, there was a long moment of him blocking out the sun over Diarmid's head while Oisín yelled louder and louder.

He's going to let me die, Diarmid thought absent-mindedly. The thought hurt deeper than the wound in his stomach, cutting a part of him he didn't know was possible to injure. But then he realized that maybe it wasn't as unjust as it felt. Had he not betrayed Fionn? Had he not killed many of his allies without second thought? Wasn't this how Fionn felt?

He nearly welcomed death in that moment, but the water found its way to his lips. And instead of rejecting it, he drank greedily. At once he could feel his senses returning to him, Oisín sat him up so he was no longer staring at the sun, but rather at Fionn who stood of to the side, his expression unreadable. Only then did Diarmid allow himself to glance downwards -- the hole that'd been in his stomach from the boar had slowly stitched itself back up into an ugly dark red scar, but gradually grew pinker as more minutes passed.

"Are you alright," Oisín asked in a panic. "Does it still hurt?"

"I-I'm fine," Diarmid panted, out of breath. "No. It's fine. It doesn't hurt anymore." Which was true, the pain had faded away into nothing worse than an awkward itch. "Fionn saved me."

"Fionn was going to let you die," Oisín corrected with a snarl. "He didn't save you because he wanted to. I threatened him into it." Again, those words tore into Diarmid worse than any wound the boar had inflicted upon him, and he found himself struggling to his feet as he unsteadily hobbled over to wear Fionn stood guiltily.

"Is he telling the truth. Did you intend for me to die there?" Diarmid asked, narrowing his eyes. He put a bloodied hand upon Fionn's shoulder, surprised to see that his eyes were wet. "Fionn."

"I did." He confessed, his shoulders slumping. In that moment, Diarmid saw past the man's ego. He saw the uncertainty beneath it and the guilt that threatened to crush him. Fionn had never shown his weakness to anyone before, not even his own family members as far as Diarmid knew. And to see him so vulnerable in that moment left a bad taste in Diarmid's mouth, even knowing he'd left him for dead.

"Fionn. When we get back to my home..." Diarmid spoke carefully. "I wish to fight you." Fionn turned his head, eyes bewildered. Oisín, too, look shocked. Diarmid was in no condition to return to fighting so quickly -- especially against the leader of the Fianna. Yet neither man said anything against the idea. They knew it was time to settle this.

"And what do you want from this fight? The Fianna? My life?" Fionn asked wearily. Diarmid swallowed, nodding.

"If you lose this fight, you will agree to my geis. From that day forth, you will serve under me. You will retire as the leader of the Fianna and stay at my house, so long as I will have you there." Diarmid explained. Oisín made an awkward noise. Fionn didn't seem fazed at all by it.

"And if I win?"

"I will give you my life to do with it as you please," Diarmid answered, "But know this, Fionn mac Cumhaill. I do not intend to lose. Even to you." Oisín left them at that, excusing himself under the guise of going to set up the preparations for the fight. Diarmid didn't doubt he was running to speak to the rest o the Fianna about what was about to happen. They must have thought he would lose to Fionn in this weakened state; they were going to come up with a plan to protect his life from Fionn yet again.

"If I win, you will be killed, you know that." Fionn warned, now that Oisín was out of earshot. Diarmid felt no fear at those words, knowing that it would not be the case. Not this time; he wouldn't lose.

"And if I win, you will be at my mercy. The man who stole Gráinne from you." Diarmid retorted. "Fitting, isn't it?"

"You make it sound as though you wish to bed me rather than kill me," Fionn mused, humor in his voice. Diarmid smiled, flashing teeth as his eyes narrowed.

"I've heard rumors about your skills as a lover, Fionn mac Cumhaill. Perhaps I wish to test them for myself. After all, once you are under my roof, you'll have to earn your keep in some way." Fionn blushed at those words and Diarmid felt his chest swell with pride. He would certainly hold true to that, and he'd a myriad of old thoughts to provide for ideas in ways Fionn could service him.

"I am not so easily tamed," Fionn hissed back. "And you're too full of yourself Diarmid O'Dyna. Tricking a woman into orgasm from showing her your spot is different from truly pleasuring someone with your body." Diarmid nearly lost his temper at that, but instead found himself laughing.

"Oh, believe me. I know multiple ways to please my wife, she's made it clear what she likes. But I might have to teach you a thing or two to prepare you for her," Diarmid continued, slinking forward until he standing right against Fionn. "Though, unless she requests it, she won't be the one you'll be servicing in bed. I'd had have you on your knees between my legs before my wife's."

Fionn didn't flinch at that, smiling wolfishly, "You make it sound as though you've already won the match, Diarmid. Where did you get such confidence from?"

Diarmid leaned forward, his lips barely brushing against Fionn's. His heart fluttered in his chest when the man didn't pull back away from him, and instead allowed for his lips to linger there on his warm skin.

"I already know I've won. You might as well already resign yourself to my geis now and spare yourself the humiliation when we return." His right hand hooked around Fionn's waist, reaching beneath the old leather armor to grab at Fionn's ass. The move startled Fionn, pulling a delicious gasp from his throat as Diarmid eyed him hungrily. "Or... Is it better for me to humiliate you in front of the rest of the Fianna?"

Diarmid couldn't stop his tongue fast enough as he continued, finally speaking the thoughts that'd been haunting his dreams aloud, "Would you like it if I put you on your knees before them again and let them watch?" Fionn's eyes narrowed, his pride now on the line, but Diarmid could feel his hips sway just enough that he knew the idea hadn't entirely repulsed him. It made him feel giddy to think about.

"I didn't imagine you'd have such thoughts as a man married to as lovely a wife as yours," Fionn said, gasping as Diarmid continued to fondle his ass. "Especially about me." Guilt hung in those final words and Diarmid frowned as Fionn made a motion to push him away. So instead he caught him by the wrist and pulled him close again, burying the other man's face into the crook of his neck before pulling him downwards to the ground where they rolled.

"You are a fool, Fionn mac Cumhaill," Diarmid laughed, pulling at the strings which held Fionn's armor on. "To imagine that there is a soul in this world who would not willingly take you to bed if given the chance. But yes, I would rather enjoy myself between your legs just as much as I enjoy being with my wife." Fionn's hips bucked as Diarmid took his time sliding his pants down to his knees, admiring Fionn's hardening erection as it hung there.

"You're not my first man," Fionn cut in. "Only the first married one." Diarmid stopped there, his eyes narrowing as he looked over Fionn's body once more. He'd known the man had slept with women before -- he had a son. And while the thought of him laying with women made him burn with jealousy, it was to be expected of him. But he couldn't imagine another man's hands touching Fionn in this way.

"I wouldn't have imagined you so open," Diarmid snapped curtly, wrapping his fingers around Fionn's cock, wringing another throaty moan from him as he stroked. "Tell me, how did this man fuck you, Fionn?"

"I wouldn't have thought you the jealous type of all things," Fionn laughed breathily, trying and failing to keep his hips from thrusting up into Diarmid's touch. "What should you care about that? But if you must know, I took his penis into my mouth and he fucked me there. I nearly choked."

"Then I will choke you when I fuck your throat," Diarmid growled out, giving Fionn's balls a hard squeeze until the man whined. "I'll fuck your mouth so hard--"

"Yes," Fionn hissed between his clenched teeth, his head rolling back against the grass. "P-please."

Diarmid froze, his entire body hot as he watched Fionn, panting as his hips rocked helplessly against his hand. Fionn's mouth hung open, ragged breaths escaping it as his bleary eyes looked straight at Diarmid, watching eagerly for what would come next. Diarmid could hardly stop himself from rushing to slide the remnants of his pants from his legs to free his own hard dick.

Fionn gaped as he watched, embarrassed about his size in comparison to Diarmid. Diarmid could see it in his face when he looked away, but he crawled atop him and grabbed his chin roughly to pull him up as he stood himself over Fionn.

"Suck." He ordered, watching Fionn through hooded eyes as he felt the other's hot breath on his skin. Fionn hesitated there a moment, unsure of what to do until Diarmid pulled his head closer, nearly rubbing his dick up against Fionn's face until Fionn finally pulled himself up enough to take Diarmid's dick into his hands, and then finally into his mouth.

Diarmid had done oral sex with Gráinne before; he wasn't new to the sensation. Yet Fionn made him feel something else entirely as he watched the older man work his tongue around the tip of his cock. And that was before Fionn took him deep into his throat and began to fondle his balls. He couldn't help it as he saw stars. His hips began to move on their own and before he knew it, both hands were on the top of Fionn's head, holding him in place while Diarmid rutted against his mouth helplessly.

Fionn's name spilled from his lips, again and again as he looked down to watch Fionn determinedly suck at him. For every thrust Diarmid gave, he took it with such grace that Diarmid immediately knew Fionn had much more practice with this than he'd implied. And while the thought of his sucking another's cock made him mad, he could hardly form a sentence against it as his balls drew tight and he came down Fionn's throat, his mind going blank as he pulled back panting and gasping for air.

"I'll see you for the fight," Fionn finally spoke, breaking the silence between them as he stood awkwardly. Diarmid could hardly register the words, bathing in his own afterglow as he forgot entirely about Fionn's own erection. "And... Try to pull yourself together before then, Diarmid O'Dyna."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the plot is out of the way, time to get to the stuff people probably want to read. Next chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> feat. some angst???
> 
>  
> 
> and Gráinne/Fionn...
> 
> And Fionn getting blueballed again. rip.

Diarmid's heart pounded in his chest, his blood thrumming with excitement as he continued to lay there, dazed. Fionn had already left him, as he'd said, and Diarmid was inwardly glad for the moment to himself to try and process all that had just happened. As the pleasant haziness of his post-coital thoughts finally faded, he was left with the harsher reality that -- as much as he adored Fionn -- the man had nearly left him for dead today. And despite the happiness of having finally been able to touch Fionn, that left a very bitter taste in his mouth.

He hadn't apologized for it either, Diarmid realized. He'd seemed slightly regretful of his actions, but he'd never uttered a word of apology to him for it. Though Fionn had never quite struck him the one to admit his faults so easily. His pride would have rarely -- if ever -- allowed him to recognize he'd done wrong. And with all the talk of him being the famous hero of this era, it was little surprise that it might have gone to his head a bit.

But that would certainly change if Diarmid were to win their match later; once he had Fionn away from the rest of the Fianna, he'd speak to him properly about it. If not for his own peace of mind, then for Fionn's own. His instinct, however, told him that Fionn would not be quite so easy to talk with once his pride was bruised again. And that he wouldn't want to apologize straightforwardly anyways, even if Diarmid had a geis upon him.

Slowly, Diarmid pulled himself up from the ground. He would have wanted to lay there and wait a little while longer, but it was best to get this fight over with sooner rather than later. If he wished to work things out with Fionn, he would certainly need more time than he probably had at the moment. And that was assuming he was able to overpower him in this state -- his stomach still ached with reminder of where the boar's tusks had torn him wide open. Despite Fionn's healing, as well, the skin there had only patched over into a large angry scar, marring a good portion of his stomach now.

It was little wonder when people stared at him when he arrived back home, his shirt bloody and torn wide open showing off the new scar. Gráinne nearly flew into a panic, rushing to his side from Fionn's. Diarmid could just barely make out the red imprint of a small hand upon his cheek; he turned and caught Diarmid's look, but did not meet his eyes.

"Are you alright? I heard everything that happened on the hunt from Oisín!" She squawked, grabbing his hands. He could feel her trembling through her grip and his heart broke once more. Because of Fionn, she might have been left all alone. "Should I go ahead and kick them out of our home already? Or, if not the others, at least Fionn, please!"

Diarmid cleared his throat, "I've made a deal with Fionn for now. Did Oisín also inform you of that?" He squeezed her hands gently, hoping she would go along with it. If she refused, he would not force her into this. She'd been through more than enough in her lifetime because of Fionn, and he could hardly fault her for her disdain for him.

But to his surprise, she looked up at him and answered, "If that is what you want. I know how much that man means to you, Diarmid O'Dyna." There was a tinge of sadness in her voice, but her eyes told of her determination. If this was truly what Diarmid wanted, she would give her approval. Not for Fionn, but for her love of Diarmid.

"I will not do anything without your approval, Gráinne. You mean a great deal to me as well," he explained softly. Her face flushed and she leaned over to kiss him upon the cheek.

"Then I approve. Just... be careful. I'm not sure what I would do without you," she sighed, combing her fingers through her hair as she pulled back away. She didn't spare him a second glance as she walked over to find Oisín, who'd taken a seat alongside his young son, Oscar. Fionn looked uncomfortable as Oisín was glaring over in his direction; Oscar didn't seem overly pleased with him either. Diarmid could not help but feel complicated at the thought of his near-death having ruined the family's relations.

Yet, his thoughts didn't stay on that for long. With Conán mac Morna's arrival, the match would surely begin soon. Fionn must have been aware of this as well, for he began removing his light armor and setting it aside until his chest was bare. Diarmid should have probably begun doing the same, but he found himself staring just a little longer as his mouth dried.

Fionn had old scars upon him -- ones that were from well before Diarmid had even met him. But there were more recent ones that he didn't recognize as well; the one upon his shoulder seemed particularly nasty. As Diarmid's eyes followed the line of it down past Fionn's chest, he found numerous more scars along his side. One that he even recognized as his own -- from when he'd accidentally caught Fionn with his sword when they'd first met. He didn't dare go any lower than that after he caught sight of the soft golden trail leading below Fionn's pants.

But he did spare the second to appreciate how unmarked Fionn's neck was still, despite how many blades had likely been held there. And he even indulged himself in the thought of seeking out that skin with his teeth and biting and sucking until he'd put his mark upon there as well. Right where everyone would be able to see it this time; they would know it'd been Diarmid who'd put his claim upon Fionn once and for all.

"Diarmid, your sword," Oisín interrupted, offering Moralltach up to him. Diarmid blinked, temporarily confused as he took the sword into his hands. His daydream shattered, he realized that Fionn was already standing ready for him on the field. That Oisín was looking at him concerned, but refused to say anything as he slipped quietly back over to where he was meant to watch the match from.

As Diarmid stepped forth to meet Fionn, he slipped the remains of his tattered top off. It didn't matter now; it was ruined beyond repair for the most part. And besides, if he were to have an entirely fair fight with Fionn, he didn't need it anyways. What he didn't notice, however, was how Fionn flinched at the sight, his eyes focusing on the scar on Diarmid's stomach rather than on his sword or face.

"Are you ready?" Fionn asked anxiously.The sun beat down upon the pair, giving Fionn's hair a golden glow to it -- almost as though it were a halo -- as he waited there, sword in hand. He neither smiled nor frowned; he wore the face of a seasoned warrior, wise with experience from the numerous battles he'd been in before. And Diarmid knew well enough that he was. Fionn was a smart fighter, and if this weren't already to be a fair fight, Diarmid was sure Fionn would have had a number of tricks up his sleeve.

But that wasn't going to be the case, this time. And as skilled a fighter Fionn was, Diarmid still had the advantage of his youth. If Fionn could outrun him, then Diarmid needed only to last until Fionn's stamina began to falter. Likewise, if Fionn could overpower him in raw strength, he just needed to hold out until he tired enough for Diarmid to turn the battle around. And with Moralltach once again at his side, Diarmid was sure he'd be able to do both those things. His victory was nearly assured.

"Diarmid?" Fionn called again, tilting his head curiously. The quiet whispers of the crowd's betting fell to a hush; everyone awaited Diarmid's response eagerly. But before Diarmid could agree to beginning the fight, he realized that the sword in Fionn's hands was an ordinary training sword. He'd brought a regular blade to their match. Diarmid's blood heated in humiliation -- did Fionn truly think so little of him?

"Would you not like to change your weapon out before we begin," Diarmid questioned. He tried to do so as politely as possible, but his grip tightened on Moralltach's hilt.

"This one will do." Fionn responded, his face still not betraying his thoughts. Diarmid clenched his jaw shut. "Shall we begin?"

"Yes." Diarmid answered curtly, frustrated at Fionn's stubbornness once more. By this time, he'd had enough of Fionn's acting in front of the Fianna, trying to humiliate him first. The man had nearly left him for dead only a few hours ago, and now he was back to his old attitude. Beneath his breath, Diarmid swore to put him in his place today, if it was the last thing he did.

The moment Oisín gave the signal for both fighters to begin, they immediately clashed with a horrific noise. Metal struck metal and Fionn pressed Diarmid back hard as he swung relentlessly. Diarmid could only barely keep up with the wild strikes to protect himself from the blade's edge. And even then, an occasional blow grazed past his skin, leaving red lines of blood where Fionn's sword had caught him.

But through the aching pain, he held his ground up until when he felt Fionn began to slow from fatigue. In one quick motion, Diarmid reversed their positions, now using his chance to push Fionn back as turned to the offensive. Already worn out from earlier, Fionn struggled to keep pace with Diarmid, and when Diarmid sped up even faster, Fionn began to severely lag behind. But he put up a valiant fight, still managing to get two more clean hits on Diarmid before Moralltach caught his blade.

Fionn didn't stand a chance against the enchanted blade; Moralltach cut clean through Fionn's sword. There were gasps from the Fianna and Diarmid's other guests, but all he could hear was the blood pounding in his own ears knowing he'd done it. Tossing his sword to the ground, he grappled Fionn down into the dirt, holding him there beneath him until Oisín made the final call of Diarmid's victory.

"You are now under this geis," Diarmid reminded Fionn with a purr, trembling as he felt the elder man shudder beneath him. "Stand, Fionn mac Cumhaill, and resign from your position in the Fianna."

The field was silent; no one dared to speak. Fionn had never lost in battle like this before, but to his close friends it had been clear as day he hadn't tried. Or even anything close to it. The strokes of his sword had been much too wild, and for the entire battle he'd seemed unfocused. For a fair battle, it'd been mostly one-sided.

"Come on now, that was hardly a fair match, " Conán bellowed, rushing to his captain's defense. "You went at him with a magic sword." He would have gotten more riled up about it too if Fionn hadn't motioned for him to shut up. That caught Diarmid off-guard.

"I agreed to use that sword. I appreciate you standing up for me, but I can fight my own battles Conán." Fionn spoke carefully. He turned his gaze to Diarmid as he stood himself up. "I will hold to my word. I swore that, if you defeated me, I would resign as captain of the Fianna. However, I cannot leave our country unprotected. The Fianna need a new leader in my place."

"What do you have in mind," Oisín inquired, narrowing his eyes at his father. He was suspicious of what he had planned; this now seemed too staged by Fionn to have been by pure chance.

"I think Diarmid should take over as captain." There was silence, and then the field erupted into noise. All at once the spectators scurried to join sides -- some insisting that the only leader of the Fianna could ever be Fionn, and others arguing that it was about time for a new leader to have been named after Fionn had lead for so many years. But when Fionn called for silence, the arguing stopped at once.

"I won't force you to do so, but I'd like you to consider it," Fionn insisted. Diarmid opened his mouth, but was unable to speak. What was he supposed to say in response to that? He would have been honored to take the position, but it didn't feel right knowing that it rightfully belonged to Fionn. Even now, his stomach churned at the realization that his selfishness had brought upon trouble to the entirety of the Fianna.

"I need time to think on it," Diarmid finally managed. Fionn nodded, the understanding clear in his eyes. "I'd like to speak to you privately about this."

No one said anything as the pair left, or if they did, Diarmid certainly didn't hear them as Fionn followed him back into the house.

He was glad everyone had stayed out on the field, probably talking about what had just happened, since it gave him a chance to finally pin Fionn against the corridor wall.

"What were you thinking, Fionn? I cannot lead the Fianna. Not after you all spent so many years chasing me." Diarmid growled out the words, eyes narrowing as his nails sunk into Fionn's shoulder. Fionn did not flinch beneath his gaze, nor at the pain. He held Diarmid's glare steady, his own blue eyes still clear with understanding.

"You avoided the entire Fianna, Diarmid. I can think of no man better than you to lead if I must resign." Fionn answered. "And, anyways, I don't want to imagine what would happen if Goll mac Morna were to seize control." Diarmid didn't disagree with that; Goll always jumped at the chance for leadership again if Fionn ever disappeared on an adventure for a little too long. And, as good as a leader as he was, he couldn't hold a light to Fionn.

"So it was a political setup," Diarmid pressed, "You used me." Once again, he felt hurt. His stomach ached just a little more than it had been.

"No. I thought of it after you'd cut clean through my sword." Fionn corrected, pushing Diarmid away from him. "I hadn't ever thought of giving up leadership of the Fianna before. I would have gladly died before doing so."

"You aren't begging me for death yet," Diarmid reminded him, not letting Fionn get too far away.

"Only because I realized if I'd want anyone to take over the Fianna, it'd probably be you." Fionn sighed. "I suppose I can beg you for my death once you've agreed to take over, though. If that's what you want." Diarmid's hand tightened into a fist.

"If you're going to be smart with me, Fionn mac Cumhaill, I'd have half a mind to ask that of you." Diarmid's eyes darkened, "But let's hold off on this talk until tomorrow. We've another feast to celebrate tonight. And I still have plenty in mind for what to do with you afterwards." Once again, Diarmid had Fionn up against the stone wall, but this time he had his face in the crook of Fionn's neck. His free hand slid down between the two of them, hooking on the edge of Fionn's pants while his nipped and sucked a line up along the side of his throat.

Fionn was still against him, but Diarmid could feel his pulse quickening with each kiss along his skin. And when he allowed his hand to roam lower, below the line of Fionn's pants, he felt the first shy bucks of his hips as Diarmid began to palm at his cock. Diarmuid pulled back away from Fionn's neck to take a peek at his work -- Fionn's pale skin littered with angry red marks from Diarmid's teeth upon his skin.

"Diarmid," Fionn hissed in warning, reaching up a hand to pull at Diarmid's hair. That got a hiss out of him as he shoved Fionn back harder, getting a grunt out of him as his head knocked back against the wall and Diarmid doubled his efforts at playing with Fionn's hardening erection. His fingers skillfully played with the foreskin before following a thick vein with his nails backwards along it. Fionn made an odd keening noise at that, writhing as Diarmuid cupped one of his balls and set to work massaging there.

"Do you like that?" Diarmid teased, nipping just bellow Fionn's ear. "Do you enjoy having your balls toyed with like this, Fionn?" If not for the two of them being completely alone right now, he himself might have been too embarrassed to ask such a thing. But Fionn didn't laugh at him for asking it; he seemed to enjoy the dirty talk along with Diarmid's rough treatment of him.

"Yesss," Fionn whined, his head rolling back to further expose his neck to Diarmid's teeth. "F-fuck, Diarmid. More." His face was deep red from both pleasure and embarrassment and his eyes watered. Diarmid felt his own cock begin to stir at the sight and withdrew his hand to eagerly grind their hips together. But with his hand now free, he began to toy with Fionn's chest.

At first, he let it roam across feeling just how muscular Fionn still was. But once he got bored of that, he began to fondle Fionn's chest as he often did with Gráinne's. He worried slightly that Fionn might not have been nearly so sensitive there, but as he pinched and rolled Fionn's nipples between his fingers, he was pleasantly surprised to see how the man rolled his hips in turn, the moans he was trying to stifle growing louder until he was forced to bite his lip to keep quiet.

"You don't need to keep your voice down," Diarmid chided, giving another hard pinch there so that he could feel Fionn shudder beneath him. "I'd like to hear it." He smiled brightly, teeth flashing to remind Fionn that it wasn't a request, but an order. Fionn reluctantly gave in, his voice crescendoing as Diarmid lowered his mouth to suck at his perked nipples.

His hands sunk back downwards, squeezing at Fionn's balls again and stroking him harder until Diarmid felt Fionn trembling from pleasure. His moans echoed loudly in the empty hallway, and in between pants he'd whine out Diarmid's name again until his lover would nip at him once more and litter his chest with angry red marks. They could have kept at it for a while too, but as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, Diarmid was reminded they weren't quite alone anymore.

But as he straightened up and looked down at Fionn, he realized he couldn't leave him half-finished like this again. It wouldn't have been entirely fair to Fionn -- though, he wasn't completely against leaving him there, looking ravished for others to see.

"Diarmid?" Gráinne called from somewhere down the hallway. Fionn went stiff in his grip, unsure of what to do; Diarmid smirked, not easing up on him as he set both hands back to work with fondling him until he threw his head back again. He was trying his best to keep his voice down though, Diarmid could see Fionn biting his lip and sweating as he fought the urge to moan back.

"I'm here, Gráinne," Diarmid answered, drinking in Fionn's mortified expression. But he made no attempt to move away from Diarmid. In fact, he even dared to continue whispering 'more' whenever Diarmid's hands slowed a bit too much for his liking. If Diarmid considered himself to have very little shame in his... indulgences... then Fionn was entirely shameless about his own.

"Did you want me to wait?" Fionn's eyes went wide as he turned to see Gráinne standing there, watching the pair of them as Diarmid got him off.

"You can do whatever you'd like. I didn't want to drag you into this if it made you uncomfortable," Diarmid reminded her, talking as though Fionn were no longer there. Though when Fionn thought to whine at him for it, Diarmid gave him a particular hard jerk that left him breathless and nearly collapsed against the wall. Diarmid felt it and smirked, eyes flicking to Fionn's humiliated expression before back to his wife.

Her eyes hadn't left Fionn yet, and he could see the beginnings of her own desire in her dilating pupils, "I'm not uncomfortable. If anyone is, it's probably Fionn from that stone scratching up his whole back." Fionn made a noise deep in his throat at her acknowledgement and Diarmid finally pulled him away from the wall, only to push him down onto his knees in front of Gráinne.

"Those rocks are rough on the skin," Gráinne said casually as she stepped closer, hiking up her dress. "I'd feel bad for him if I didn't know he was used to worse." Her hands dipped down, fingers entwining in Fionn's hair and pulling his head forward. Diarmid wasn't surprised to see that Fionn gave her no resistance, gladly allowing her to guide his face towards her crotch.

"O-oh, he isn't bad," she gasped in surprise as Fionn began to lick at her clit. She gave his hair another hard tug and Fionn gave a low hum of approval that had Gráinne shivering in pleasure. Fionn's eyes flicked upwards to drink in the sight while one of his hands lowered to stroke at himself again. Gráinne would have laughed at him, but she instead moaned breathlessly as Fionn doubled his efforts with his tongue.

"He's very good at what he does," Diarmid agreed, licking his lips as he watched the pair hungrily. It certainly was a sight he could get used to; Fionn seemed to have no issues with Gráinne taking control of him. And Gráinne looked pleased to have power over the man who'd spent years trying to hunt her and Diarmid down. 

"I suppose he has had to be good at... lip service... to keep his position for so long." Gráinne continued. Diarmid's lips twitched, a jolt of jealousy hitting him once more, but he smiled and nodded. 

Fionn's other hand slid up Gráinne's thigh, fingers gently tracing the outline of her pussy as she wiggled in pleasure above him. The sight of that had Diarmid's heart swelling with love for the both of them, but Gráinne's moans also had his dick swelling with lust for them. How he'd love nothing more than to pull them into his bed right now, and the louder Gráinne's moans and shouts came, the more he thought about it until finally Fionn pulled away from her, licking at his wet lips.

"Well, you could have picked worse for a husband," Gráinne huffed, her face flushed as she set her skirt back down and fixed it. Her eyes turned downwards to where Fionn's cock still wept, mostly neglected.

"I can handle the rest of the party myself. Why don't you... enjoy your wedding night early. I'm sure the poor thing has earned at least some attentions." Gráinne gave no time for either of them to respond to that before taking her leave. Diarmid suspected it was because she herself knew she'd be caught up in it if she stayed any longer. Fionn must have truly impressed her for once.

"She pulls hard," Fionn sighed once Gráinne was out of earshot. "I thought she'd tug my hair out while I fingered her." He rose from his knees slowly, peeking over his shoulder at Diarmid who was waiting patiently on him. His smile was ominously serene as he beamed down at Fionn.

"If you figured that was bad, wait until she grabs onto your back. She'll leave you with more scratches than any battle you've been in," Diarmid teased. "But that's for later; I'm sure she'll join us after the feast is done. For now, I think it's best if you go clean yourself up some. You reek of blood and sweat -- we have scented bath waters for you to use as you wish."

Fionn scoffed at that, but the look Diarmid gave him warned that it hadn't just been a friendly invitation to do so. Diarmid fully expected him to comply with that, and reluctantly he did as he allowed for himself to be led further down the darkened hallway. He'd half a mind to grumble his complaints at being left, painfully erect, again, but Diarmid wouldn't hear it. "I'm saving you for tonight," he teased, golden eyes dark more lust than playfulness. Fionn doubted that he was joking and growled in displeasure as he gritted his teeth. He wasn't enjoying being made a fool of by Diarmid once again. So when he was finally nudged into the bathing room, he could hardly complain when Diarmid took his leave to go wash himself up as well; Fionn gladly welcomed the alone time.


End file.
